MY WORLD:
Two Saturdays ago, I watched The Warden all day while The VP partied like a NASTY PARTY GAL IN THE CITYYYYYYYY DOING ALCOHOL AND DANCING AND HARDCORE DRUGS THAT SHE BOUGHT FROM A SKINNY GUY IN AN OLD YELLOW CAR!!! I had a better time than her because, I don’t know, I love my daughter more than drugs. Hey, that’s just me! (This your way of seeing if you can start a fight with a blog that brings in no money?)
The Warden and I had watched college football all day because she just loves football OR she’s a tiny baby who can’t make decisions for herself on account of her not even being able to rollover, much less walk to another room to go watch a murder documentary (the second one. It’s the second one). I’d had two beers (responsible) and was about to have my third when The VP came in. Surprisingly, she was not drunk and promised me that she didn’t buy hardcore drugs from a skinny guy in an old yellow car…but, we don’t have at-home drug tests and talk is cheap. YOU DECIDE!
As I left my Lying Wife and went for my third beer something absolutely horrific happened (you saw yourself in a mirror?!), as I reached the fridge: “I…I…don’t want to drink…” (Is there video evidence of this? Didn’t you drink beer in your car one time because you were in such bad traff-)SHUT UP! Me not wanting a beer on a Saturday night during college football season (during all seasons) could only mean one thing…I was sick. So I did the thing you do when you know you’re about to get sick but you don’t want to admit it; I sat on the couch in a pouty mood and didn’t really talk.
Instead, I thought about how unfair life is. How, I had happily watched The Warden jinx all of my college football bets while my Lying Wife “didn’t buy drugs from a skinny guy in an old yellow car.” What should have happened is that I would have bankrolled enough points from this selfless, heroic effort that whenever I was invited to hang out with hot guys in the city, The VP would have to return the favor. Not to mention, VP kinda’ owed me double because of her repeated refusals to send me pics of hot guys in the city that day. (It’s a fair request and a malicious refusal. HE LIVES IN THE SUBURBS NOW! HOW ELSE IS HE SUPPOSED TO SEE WHAT HOT CITY GUYS ARE UP TO THESE DAYS?!?!)
But no. Now, I was about to get really sick, and she was probably going to have to take the lead on caring for The Warden and I was going to be forced to cash in the points that I had just gained in every married couple’s favorite game, “who owes who what?” Next time I go to church, the Priest better pack a lunch cuz I’m gonna need some fuckin’ answers. “Question: if God exists, why would he make me pick all losers on a day I’m solo watching The Warden and then get me immediately sick?…No, I don’t think that could mean that I’m not living the way he wants me to. I don’t think that at all—ya’ know, Father Marty, what makes you so great? Huh? How many people have you married that are now divorced? No, that is relevant! JUST ANSWER THE FUCKING QUESTION!” What I’m trying to say is that if God didn’t want me to say “fuck” in church, he shouldn’t have created the word. I digress.
With my sickness snowballing into “you’re not going to want to drink for days”-territory, I went up to bed at 9PM on a goddamn college football Saturday. However, wanting to grasp on to my points lead, I told The VP that I’d handle the middle of the night feeding (there are reports circulating that you then went upstairs and almost cried; can you confirm?). She insisted that she could handle it, but I knew what she was doing and I wasn’t going to stand for it. If I came down with a case of “dead,” I was gonna do that middle of the night feeding. POINTS! I DO IT FOR THE POINTS…and the love of my daughter…BUT MOSTLY THE POINTS!!!!
A few hours later, I woke up still sick (even after 4 whole hours?!) and still obsessed with hanging on to my points lead. (Wait, he’s not going to actually risk getting his two-month-old sick so he can maintain a lead in a game that only exists in his mind, is he?) You’re goddamn right I fed that little baby! Chills and runny nose and sore throat and all, I popped that bottle into her mouth, looked right into the camera and reminded the world that I’M STILL THE CHAMP!!! KING KONG AIN’T GOT SHIT ON ME!!!
Then I tested positive for Covid.
Yet another VERY unchill thing for God to do to me. Now, in my defense (the jury already hates you) I tested negative when I fed her. Did I take the test after I fed her? Huh? Um, sorry I have a phone call I have to take. I’m sorry I can’t answer that because I have to take this phone call. It’s my stock broker advisor. It’s important and complicated and business.(it’s me, you idiot. You took the test AFTER your snot faucet face hovered over the bottle she had no choice but to feed from. But hey, I’m sure she didn’t mind. Who wouldn’t want to be bottle fed by a sweaty, snotty chubbo unsuccessfully trying to hold in coughs?).
Only later that Sunday did I test myself again and test maybe the most positive anyone has ever been for Covid. Instead of a line, my test actually bought a phone just so it could text me, “dude, you REALLY have Covid.” And as sick as I was with a sore throat and chills and whatever nobody cares, I was more bothered by A) the guilt and B) the points I was about to give up to The VP.
Obviously, the guilt of wondering if I just gave CuteBabyAngelFace, who also does smugly jinx my college football bets, Covid was not the most fun idea to sit with. Then, The VP and I had to have the talk where we decide how we want to handle me. The theoretical plan, that we’d talked about in the past, was that we’d both shrug and be all cool like, “hey, everyone’s gonna get it, so business as usual!” But, when we were faced with the actual decision of whether we wanted me fully around them, it wasn’t that easy. After my idea of me renting an apartment in the city to “ask hot guys what they think” was rejected, we ended up settling on me wearing a mask whenever I was around them in the house, and The VP doing all of the feedings for The Warden. The Warden may need to be re-nicknamed Jimmy’s College Football Betting Jinx because that’s the only way to explain how he won ZERO of the bets he wrote about in the last blog post.
I will say between having a hard time swallowing, my head pounding, and my nose running, the VPs “I know I can’t be mad at you for getting Covid, but I’m mad at you for getting Covid”-face was probably my least favorite Coronavirus symptom. I did discover, however, that being really sick and answering questions like, “how long do you think you’ll be sick?” is a quick way to see if someone has violent tendencies. I am happy to report that while I did think of violence (blood), I did not act violently when I was repeatedly asked “how long do you think you’ll be sick?”
Thankfully, it appears that both The VP and The Warden just instinctually plug their noses and hold their breath around me because neither ended up getting Covid (the baby’s turning blue! TELL SMELLY JIMMY TO GO AWAY!!!) I am unhappy to report, however, that The VP ran the score up on our not real, but also VERY real game of “who owes who what?” The VP handled all of the feedings and cooked for us and didn’t complain and whatever whatever she’s a good wife and I love her don’t tell her whatever whatever. (Romance).
I survived Covid, but I lost so many points in marriage that I might as well be on a ventilator. Guess I’ll never get to see what those hot city guys are up to nowadays…do they wear flannel? Is “Gangnam Style” funny again? Do they…do they even know who Psy is?
I’ll never know.
OUR WORLD:
As you may have heard, I just got over Covid (nobody’s impressed anymore) and I’m doing a lot of the feedings for The Warden because I’m down ten million points in marriage. As you can imagine, my brain energy is sapped with the weight of being a forever loser. Thus, I’d like to present an Official Jimmyschair Ranking of “SEEMINGLY INSIGNIFICANT THINGS THAT MAKE ADULT MEN FEEL LIKE FOREVER LOSERS”
10). Not realizing that a beer bottle isn’t a twist off and trying to twist the cap off until your palm really hurts.
9). Being asked by a friend if you’ve paid your property taxes and having no idea if you have or not.
8). Eating a huge lunch on a weekday.
7). Seeing your wife re-fold the towels that you just folded.
6). Not being able to wear a watch because it gives your wrist a rash.
5). Having to use an inhaler in public.
4). The hat that you’ve been wearing all day somehow coming off and revealing your greasy hat hair.
3). Getting heartburn after eating something that wasn’t even spicy.
2). Giving another guy a bro-hug when he clearly was just doing a handshake.
1). Putting a song on that you love and nobody saying anything about it even after you said, “I just love this song.”
LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:
When you’re clearly right in a traffic argument and you end up next to the person who was wrong at a red light. Is there anything better than looking at an idiot (who hopefully doesn’t have a gun) in the car next to you when you both know that they were wrong?
LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:
When there’s not real food in the house, but you’re trying to not be wasteful, so you eat saltines and cheese slices until you can’t breathe.
MY BABY IS SO CUTE AND I LOVE HER SO MUCH MOMENT:
Getting her to smile while singing “Heyyyyy, sexy lady!” from Psy’s forever poignant 2012 superhit, “Gangnam Style.”
MY BABY IS SO CUTE AND I LOVE HER SO MUCH, BUT…MOMENT:
Her morphing into a world champion contortionist while trying to get her to finish the last ounce and a half of her bedtime bottle. The other night it felt like I was legitimately wrestling with a two-month-old. I even said “I ain’t goin’ NOWHERE!”
JIMMY GAMBLES:
Yes, I lost all of the picks that I made in my last blog post. And then I got Covid. So yeah, I think I was punished enough for that slate. Unfortunately, I’m currently visiting family in a state right now that doesn’t allow me to gamble, so it looks like I won’t be gambling this week. Which, in turn, means that it also looks like I will be in a bad mood that I can’t admit to this week.
K bye.
Jimmy's Chair 